Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Friday, February 8, 2008

Another day.

Somedays you open your eyes and find, in puzzlement, another day awaiting.

Another day of waiting, of struggling, of releasing, of learning, of pressing on.

Another day to get through.

Another day of marching on. Sometimes in candour, sometimes with stoic acceptance- but always with valour.

Another day.

There is no other choice.

Onward and upward we march.

There is no other choice.

The day ends, and the march, the proud, stoic march

Dissolves.


When we're on our knees,

That is, perhaps,

The strongest we'll ever be.




Photo by OY

2 Corinthians 12:10

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Yours, Betrothed.

I Run
Away, in rebellion.
Like a forked tongue from the sea.
In an angry spit of jealous froth,
I Run from You.

I Run
Away, in rebellion
Like bitter streams snaking from the sea.
But You Pursue me
With haste, and make chase.

For Your love for me,
Strong as death, unyielding as the grave
Terrifies me.
Your love is a sea of fire, cruel,
No water can quench.

And I Run
Away, in rebellion,
But like a dark knight,
You lean and hearken after me
With haste, and win the chase.

I tire,
I am drawn back to You.

Water into water,
My hair loosens, mingles into You
As I unfold,

Spill into
Your vastness.

Water into water,
I unfold, spill into the sea,
Back to the beginning,
I return to the One
Calling me.

In rebellion I Run.
And in brokeness,
Return.

Slain, speared, succumbed.
Full circle,
I have come.

In brokenness I Return,
As all rivers do the sea.


Back to you, I Run.

For Your love makes my journey just,
And lets me end where I begun.

Back to You, I Run,
Yours, betrothed.




Song of Solomon 8: 6-7

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

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Saturday, October 27, 2007

Mind the Gap.

" I cried at your scene."

And after I had got through the crowd, I saw you running towards me, your eyes swollen with tears, saying, " You made me cry..." And you gave me flowers, my favourite ones, because you knew what they meant to me. When I saw your face, wet and red with tears, I hugged you.

Today was the performance of our play, the annual medical play production, and I acted as female lead. It didn't feel like it, because it wasn't a glamorous, diva role. It didn't feel like it, because I've never taken major roles before. It didn't feel like it, because the gravity of what this performance meant to me far outshadowed any amount of excitement that playing a major role could evoke.

Our play was called Mind the Gap. Using the train as a metaphor of life, it highlights the Gap we all have to mind, the gap between living our dreams and realities.

I was expecting an adrenalin rush, but I felt no nervousness at all- not because I was brave, or confident or experienced, but because of the gravity of what this performance meant to me.

I had a Story to tell. A true one. And because it was true, I was putting myself on the line. It was a Vulnerable Feeling. What if the audience didn’t empathise with her Story? What if they thought she was over-the-top, too emotional, unconvincing?

It was a Vulnerable Feeling, a feeling of inadequacy. Then one of you came up close to me before my cue on stage and you whispered into my ear, " I know I’ve told you this before, Wai Jia- you’re so believable it’s scary. Now go do your thing."

So there I was on stage, performing today.

“Wow. You know, I could never do something like that… I nearly cried at that scene, it was so moving. What I can never figure out is- how do you feel so much for a character, act a life out, especially for one like yours… She’s so… complicated,” K asked.

“Memories,” I said. And then immediately, when I saw your quizzical expression, I quickly withdrew, “No, not memories. I mean, it’s about putting yourself in other people’s shoes I think.”

But my words fell apart, and I remembered God doesn’t like lying, doesn’t like lying under any circumstances.

So I looked at you, and said, “ No, I wrote her, that’s why. It was a Real Story. Not all of it, but enough. So yes, memories were enough. ” You frowned, looked at me, and then nodded as though you understood.

Perhaps that’s why it meant so much to me, this performance. I only perform, write, paint things that are True. And so when I performed, it wasn’t –just- an act, it wasn’t –just- a play, it wasn’t –just- a poem I wrote. It was my life, my Story on the line, me. Being presented on a stage, to an audience. Not all of it was literally true, but enough, enough was.

So she put herself on the line today, and right there, when the audience cried, or nearly did, felt for her Story, they put themselves on the line, too. My character’s Story made you cry. I performed today, and you received not only the performance, but received me. During my performance, the audience stood on that line with me, and cried. Thank you.

So many tears were shed during the course of rehearsing for this play, because the memories were so real it hurt. Three days ago, I couldn’t sleep till 3 in the morning. And on Monday, when Lines were cut, when a little girl’s Voice and her Story were erased, it more than shortened the play, it invalidated the heart behind those Lines, and fragile things fell apart, broke. Lines were still cut, but those cut on Monday were added back because they were Real. You cannot give fake things to an audience. It is not right.

This had to be done. I nearly wanted nothing to do with it. But I agreed to be involved in the scriptwriting, acting, conceptualizing, only because I knew this had to be done. This, releasing Real Stories and Real Emotions into the world had to be done.

This performance meant so much to me because it was True to us. We went ahead with it even though it was controversial, edgy, and even though we knew it wasn’t mainstream entertainment. We stuck to it because we believed in it, wanted to tell the stories True to our hearts. And because of it, because we were True to the Story and went over-time, we weren’t afraid of being disqualified. Because of it, I joined this small-scale, far less glamourous production instead of an upcoming large-scale, glitzy act which I couldn’t connect with in the same True way.

D, the director and a good friend of mine, had asked me at the beginning about his concept for the play, and said, “ I know this is a controversial, serious play. Won't go down well with a lot of people. I want to tell you about it, and if even you don’t think it’ll work out, I won't do it.”

When I heard it, I said, “Do what is True to you, because art is precisely that. ” And you did, D. You pulled this whole thing off. You inspired me, because more than anyone else, you stood on the line and were unafraid of the consequences. You are so brave, a True artist.

Every time we re-enact our past, acknowledge it, breathe it into life, we release some of it into the world, and connect with the people who receive it. Maybe this is what art is, then. It is about putting Real things about yourself on the line, re-presenting a part of yourself to others, and hoping that somewhere down the line, they would be brave, too, and put themselves on the line- with you. Art that is Real connects people, makes people think about things, makes people brave enough to be Vulnerable with you. And as an artist, when you release something Real into the world, it makes you a better person.

A better person. What does it mean.

Today, I have released it. I have released that part of my past into the world, and I am happy.

“ Hey Wai Jia, that was a very moving performance, made more stirring by the reality behind it. Thanks for making me think about life, and being grateful for the blessings I have…”

And so it is all worth it. Art that is Real, art that is honest and from the heart makes people, both the artist and the audience, better people. Maybe this is what it is all about. It's about being honest, bridging the Gap, putting yourselves on the line, making connections, and helping one another become True people, True-er to ourselves, and to the world around us.

I am happy.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Train Ride

Once
I dreamt
I was on a
Train. You were with
Me. As the train sped
off, Light into Darkness,
we
talked as
the World sank into
Nothingness. I didn't even notice.

Station after station, We
talked, just a
metal pole between Us,
cold, and
Us, just holding onto it and onto
Each Other.

Station after station, We
talked, our hands on a
metal pole, and
entwined into
Each Other.
Warm.

Our lives sealed on an
empty carriage, and
Our hands consecrated on a
metal pole, cold,
speeding into eternity
Together.

People filing in and out, watching Us.
Just.

And at that fateful station, the
Train stopped and
You stepped
Out,
leaving Me,
behind.

Which station it was, I don't even know.
My fingers caressed a naked metal pole.

What happened?

Me and an empty carriage,
alone.
Me and a metal pole,
Cold.







 
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